If Only I Saw a Miracle (Then I Would Change)
This week’s parsha introduces us to the concept of manna, the heavenly bread that nourished the Israelites in the wilderness. We refer to manna as a concept because it is more than just food—it is an ideology. Many struggle with the idea that millions of people were fed daily by food descending from heaven. However, when the Jewish people went out each morning to collect their manna, they were being taught a fundamental lesson about how to view life intelligently.
Most people see manna as a miracle because it bypassed the normal laws of nature. But let’s ask: what is the difference between the natural and the miraculous? The Oxford American Dictionary defines a miracle as “a remarkable and welcome event that seems impossible to explain by means of the known laws of nature and is therefore attributed to a supernatural agency.” Indeed, miracles defy conventional scientific explanation, but where did “the known laws of nature” come from? Why do we assume certain phenomena are “natural,” while those beyond our understanding are labeled miraculous? Are the phenomena we take for granted any less wondrous?
Imagine a farmer’s cow dies, but instead of distress, he calmly buries it and tells us to wait. Over time, the carcass decomposes into dust. Later, something begins to grow from that very spot, and after a while, a fully formed cow emerges, shakes off the dirt, and begins producing milk. We would marvel at this “miracle.” But how is this different from the natural process of planting a seed in the ground? A lifeless object is placed in the soil, decomposes, and from it sprouts new life. Is this any less miraculous than resurrecting the dead? The only difference is that we are accustomed to it.
When we adopt this perspective, we recognize that obtaining food daily is no less miraculous than receiving manna from heaven. Science can analyze the chemical makeup of a seed and the process by which it grows, but it cannot explain why a seed possesses this unique ability while a pebble does not.
People often claim that they would believe in G-d if only they saw a miracle. Yet history proves otherwise. The Egyptians witnessed ten plagues—direct suspensions of natural law—yet they did not become more moral or kind.
Instead, they continued to oppress the Jewish people with greater cruelty.
Even after witnessing the splitting of the Red Sea and the complete annihilation of the Egyptian army, Amalek still had the audacity to attack the very nation that had just experienced these open miracles. Clearly, seeing miracles does not necessarily lead to change.
Consider modern history. When five well-armed Arab nations waged war against a scarcely equipped Israel in 1948, and Israel emerged victorious against all odds, did the world change as a result? During the Six-Day War, many Jews who were far removed from religious observance found themselves praying in bomb shelters. When the media later reported the miraculous events of those six days, people were astonished. Yet, how many allowed those miracles to transform their lives?
During the Gulf War, thirty-nine Scud missiles struck Israel. Entire apartment buildings were demolished, yet only one person was killed. (I hesitate to use the word “only” because every life is precious, but under normal circumstances, thousands should have perished.) Despite witnessing such miracles, how many people truly changed as a result?
Why do so many deny G-d and the daily miracles He performs? Because acknowledging a Creator carries expectations. If G-d created the world with purpose, then we must ask ourselves: What does He expect of us? If we dismiss the world as random and ownerless, we are free to do whatever we please. This mindset has fueled persecution and immorality for generations. Without a higher authority, humans invent laws that suit their desires—even to the point of justifying human sacrifice.
The Jewish people stand as a testament to the idea that life has meaning. While other civilizations pillaged, murdered, and engaged in unspeakable atrocities, we were busy educating our children and establishing social welfare systems. We understood that life has purpose and conducted ourselves accordingly. This is the essence of being a Jew.
Every day, we experience miracles. Our bodies ingest food, automatically filter impurities, and retain the necessary nutrients to sustain life—all without conscious thought. Is this not miraculous? Is what we call nature truly different from an open miracle?
Our task as Jews is to recognize the manna that falls daily in our lives. Those who wait for grand miracles need only reframe their perspective. The miracles are already here—we simply need to open our eyes and see them.